


Even Gods Love Sinners

by sapphiresnail



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphiresnail/pseuds/sapphiresnail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another night at the Café Musain with les amis & Grantaire's drunken ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Gods Love Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep it similar to the actual text, with just a little more insight into Enjolras and his mind. I don't own these characters, I was just inspired to write because of my intense feels.

_“And the heart is hard to translate,_  
 _It has a language of its own,_  
 _It talks in tongues and quiet sighs,_  
 _And prayers and proclamations”_  
 **All This & Heaven Too – Florence + the Machine**

 

“Just look at what is happening to him! He cannot think straight, his eyes are all glazed over, and his mouth has been hanging open for the past twenty minutes!” Joly shouted loudly over the hustle and bustle of the Café Musain. “Love should be considered to be a seriously dangerous disease.”

“Excuse you, my mouth was definitely not hanging open,” Marius said, aggressively wiping some drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh Marius, will you be the first of us to find true love and start a life? Will you have lots of children who look just like you running around; laughing so hard tears begin to swell in their precious little eyes? Then they will look at you with admiration and wait for your smile of approval and acceptance before running around once more, creating a world only children can see,” Prouvaire mused, looking off into the distance. The others stared at him in silence before breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“Does anyone else feel as if they need another bottle of wine?” Grantaire asked, making his way towards the bar regardless of anyone’s reply.

“I think everyone has had quite enough. Especially you, Grantaire,” Enjolras said from a table in the corner, close to the fire. Grantaire turned directly towards Enjolras and smiled before grabbing two more bottles.

Enjolras had been silently shuffling through large amounts of papers scattered all over the table, pretending to look busy while actually intently listening to his friends. This was his mental break from all of his plots of revolution and historical research about France; just watching and listening to his friends as they talked so freely about their lives and joked about their futures. Enjolras could not joke with them, however. He was their leader, and was therefore accountable for their lives and their futures. He had an unspoken responsibility to hold the group together through his dedication and passion for a cause that terribly threatened their lives. For him to act so carelessly and comically would certainly plant seeds of doubt in everyone’s mind.

Enjolras leaned back in his chair and felt the heat of the fire warm his back. As his gazed over the faces of all his friends so full of laughter and happiness, he could not help but smile just a little. He closed his eyes for a moment, until he felt the table shake slightly indicating that someone had taken a seat. His eyes flew open to see Grantaire sitting across from him with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“Is something amusing to you, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, glancing quickly up at Enjolras before busying himself with the wine.

“I hope you are not pouring a glass for me,” Enjolras said bluntly.

“No, I am pouring two for myself,” Grantaire said, still without looking at Enjolras but smiling down at the table to himself.

Enjolras scoffed and observed the man in front of him. Grantaire was unlike any of his other friends. Grantaire had no apparent passion, no motivation to do anything productive, and only seemed satisfied when he was drowning himself in alcohol. Enjolras often wondered why Grantaire would voluntarily spend his time with such a group of lively, enthusiastic individuals. He spent half the time complaining, quite loudly, about the emptiness of life, and the other half mocking Enjolras’s ideas. Still, Grantaire showed up for every meeting, listened intently to Enjolras’s speeches, and always tried to involve Enjolras in non-revolution-related activities, such as drinking. Although Enjolras often shrugged him off or scoffed at his antics, he enjoyed having him around and cared deeply for his well-being.

Enjolras, so lost in his thoughts, realized that he and Grantaire had locked eyes. He quickly looked down at his papers with a sigh.

“What is wrong with you tonight? You seem so…” Grantaire started, before he was met with another look from Enjolras that was less gentle than his blank stare. “Pensive,” Grantaire said cautiously, taking a drink from one of the full glasses in front of him, this time he did not look away from Enjolras.

Enjolras’s gaze fell to the second glass on the table. He took a pause before saying, “I am simply enjoying the company of the cause.”

Grantaire did not miss a beat before he replied, “’The company of the cause’ you say. So typical of an answer from you, Enjolras. But tell me, what are you really thinking of?” Grantaire then leaned too far back in the chair, causing him to awkwardly check his balance.

Enjolras was really thinking, _Here is a man who cares more for the disillusions of life caused by the intoxication of the mind than the hope in a free world where any man can live with the rights, opportunities, and equality he deserves. What a curious man you are, Grantaire._

But instead he took another moment before replying, “I am thinking that you had more than enough to drink, as always.” Enjolras then stood up from the table and moved both glasses and the bottle of wine to the table with the other _amis_.

Upon his arrival, Courfeyrac nudged Enjolras’s hip with his elbow and said, a little too enthusiastically, “Enjolras, can this be true? Have you come to drink with us?”  
Enjolras simply rolled his eyes and walked pointedly back to his table of origin.

“I was afraid I had lost you for a moment,” Grantaire said, grinning up at Enjolras before he sat down. “You did not have to remove the wine, though. Anyway, you have not yet told me what is bothering you.”

Enjolras returned to his pensive state, where he began to formulate the possible outcomes of the future events that will take place because of his ideas and schemes. He was visibly stressing out. Having one of his beloved friends sitting just across the table from him genuinely interested in his state of mind was only adding to his burdens. He could not possibly tell Grantaire all of the things that were weighing on his mind and trust that it would not influence his participation in the uprising. Although, Grantaire was, of all _les amis_ , the person who would be least influenced by Enjolras’s hesitation and second-guessing. Enjolras closed his eyes again, trying to collect his thoughts.

This time when he opened them, Grantaire was sitting on the floor, at his feet. “Grantaire, what are you doing?” Enjolras said, trying to hide his apparent bewilderment.

“This is more fitting, is it not?” Grantaire replied, still smiling up at him. “We are not on the same level, after all.”

Enjolras just stared down at him, unable to form an appropriate response to the situation. Grantaire truly was a wild card. Some days he would be quiet and depressed, other days he would be loud and social. But whatever personality showed itself, there was always the underlying quality of inferiority when it came to Enjolras, and he was quite unable to understand why.

“Grantaire, sit back down,” Enjolras said seriously.

Grantaire laughed gently and replied, “I am sitting, Enjolras! But surely if I sit back on the chair you will tell me what is troubling you?”

“There is nothing troubling me besides you sitting at my feet,” Enjolras said, looking over at the other _amis_ who were still laughing amongst themselves at the other table.

“Oh Enjolras, first my alcohol troubles you, and now my whole presence! Will you remove me too? Will you make me go back and join the others? Ah, I remember, you were so carefree before I came to sit with you! I must be the only thing that brings you trouble. Here you are working so diligently on these pamphlets and reports and maps and whatever else you have, and then I interrupted you and caused a disturbance. Your mind became foggy because of me. My very existence is a nuisance to you. How can you hope to change the world and save the people when you are forced to deal with an alcoholic scoundrel constantly buzzing in your ear like a manic fly? If I was you, I would swat me away, and quickly too. But yet here I am, sitting at your feet. And instead of sending me away, you asked me to sit with you once more. This only proves my theory, Enjolras. The others said, ‘Enjolras is a man, just as you and I’ but I disagreed. I told them you were more than a man. If you are not a god, then you must be some kind of creature from heaven. I know, I know, ‘Grantaire, you do not believe in heaven’ and that is true. And that is true because you are here before me, Enjolras. If heaven were real, why would someone such as you choose to come down to Earth and be with something such as me? This is why I call you Apollo, this is why I sit at your feet, and this is why you will not speak your thoughts to me,” Grantaire slurred all his words while looking into the fire, almost talking more to himself than to anyone else.

Suddenly, he looked up hopefully at Enjolras, his eyes becoming quite watery, and awaited a response.

Enjolras leaned down and held Grantaire steadily by the shoulders. He stared carefully into his eyes, trying to figure out exactly what lays behind them. His brows pushed sternly together in attentiveness, which could easily be mistaken for a glare. Grantaire claimed to hate life, and yet he talked so passionately about his value to Enjolras. If he truly regarded life as insignificant and meaningless, then he should not care whether Enjolras despised him or admired him. Grantaire’s mind was truly a mystery to Enjolras.  
Enjolras reached up and briefly touched the other man’s cheek to wipe away a stray tear, which caused Grantaire’s head to fall heavily into his palm. It was this motion that reminded Enjolras that Grantaire was still in a drunken state, and would most likely not remember any of what he had just said, or any of what Enjolras might say in response. He had the opportunity to say anything at all. But instead, he said nothing. Enjolras would never admit it out loud, but unlike the other _amis_ , Grantaire and his spontaneous, unpredictable ways played on Enjolras’s heartstrings like a harp. If he were to open up his thoughts and emotions to him, their relationship would be entirely different. Labeling Grantaire as drunk was an easy way out; it allowed Enjolras to avoid dealing with both his emotions and Grantaire’s, which only served as an unnecessary distraction in the grand scheme of things. It was moments like these where he was thankful for the influence of alcohol. Enjolras briefly pressed his head against Grantaire’s, causing both their eyes to close from the pressure for just a moment. The connection was broken as quickly as it was created.

“Joly,” Enjolras shouted, taking his eyes off of Grantaire to connect with Joly, “Grantaire is in need of some assistance.”

Joly made a distressed sound, “Oh no, do not tell me he has fallen in love as well!”

Enjolras stood up a little too quickly, causing his chair to screech against the hard wood floor. He felt Grantaire’s head fall against his knees.

“I am sure that is not the case here,” Enjolras said, staring down at the messy mop of black hair that rested so contently against him. “I am going home; we will meet again in three days’ time.”

Joly nodded and quickly moved Grantaire away from Enjolras and began lightly tapping him on the cheeks, attempting to awaken him from his drunken stupor. Enjolras turned back to the table to collect his belongings, throwing concerned glances towards his broken friend all the while. As he made his way towards the door, he heard the mangled voice of Grantaire mutter, “Enjolras disdains me.”

As Enjolras stepped outside, he was immediately pelted with a downpour of rain. On any other night, this would only serve as another misfortune; however, this rain was a purifying experience. Whenever Enjolras and Grantaire shared any span of time together the air between them held a sort of heavy tension that Enjolras was sure only afflicted him. He tried to move his thoughts to his other friends, laughing and joking together with a rather jovial air about them. Why did Grantaire not choose to spend his time with them? Why would someone so wild prefer to spend his night with someone so serious? Enjolras looked towards the sky and took a deep breath as he closed his eyes and let the rain fall delicately down his face. The cleansing of his thoughts allowed him to arrive at only one conclusion: these desperate wonderings and dead ends his mind was hitting while trying to understand Grantaire were pointless; after all, Grantaire would not remember any of it anyway.


End file.
